She rocked back against him, milking the sensation of him filling her, even as her hand stroked him fervently. He was rock hard in the circle of her fingers, straining for something, anything, to bury himself in. Cara turned around, and Simon's fingers thrust into her with renewed energy.
"Ah!" She bit her lip in the aftermath of the exclamation, but her whole body was shaking with anticipation. He could easily finish her, right then and there, with that skillful hand alone. She almost thought he was mean-spirited enough to do it, to get her off without ever giving her what she truly wanted. It was well within his power in that moment to bring her to climax, and she would go screaming his name and begging for more.
But he craved her as much as she craved him. Simon retracted the hand that tormented her and grasped her by the neck, lowering her down into a languid kiss. The strength and insistence of his tongue as it plunged past her teeth was enough to make Cara go completely boneless against him. She thrust her own tongue back at him and warred for dominance as she pressed herself back into his erection. She rocked herself back and forth against it, teasing him with the promise of the release that lay between her legs. Simon's fingers were tangled in her hair, and she felt his grip tighten; she knew what he was signaling her to do. He was too far gone himself to angle her body the way he wanted it.
Cara snuck a hand between them and took hold of him once more, fingers wrapping around the thick base of his pulsing member. She guided herself down onto him and was grateful for the way that Simon's fingers had stretched her to accommodate him; she sank down onto him easily, feeling his rigid length slip inside her fully, until she was mewling and gasping with the unbelievable sensation. She felt her muscles contract helplessly at the intrusion, seeking a tighter fit, a more fulfilling pleasure, and she got it. Cara allowed her eyes to fall shut, half-dizzy from the heat and the sheer relish of having Simon inside her.
She wanted to enjoy the sweet agony, but the man beneath her was horny beyond reason and impatient to move. He grabbed the swell of her ass and guided her down onto him again; his thrusts were slowed by the water. He was panting with need, and Cara decided she loved to see him like this. He could have a private jet with its own Jacuzzi and all the money in the world, but he was still a slave to his most basic desires.
She leaned forward and snatched his lower lip between her teeth, exerting a sharp pressure on the sensitive flesh as she nibbled and pulled at it. Simon pulled her down onto him and kept her in place. His sudden refusal to move was driving her to distraction. She could feel that he brushed her very center, but without friction, there was no triggering the ultimate pleasure that awaited her.
Cara rose, about to change positions on him again, and Simon followed her up. He exhibited his strength in turning her around and setting her on the side of the Jacuzzi; the open air of the private jet rushed against her fevered skin, and Cara gasped at the cold. She wasn't given very long at all to reflect on it before Simon rose fully out of the water and seized her hip. She parted her legs to accommodate him as they were rejoined, kissing him all the while. His thrusts came quicker now that there was no water to impede him, and the force of them was nearly enough to unseat her. She struggled not to slide back down into the water, and Simon kept her pinned as he took her, hard and fast, against the side of the Jacuzzi. Each jerking motion caused the water to splash up around his tensed flanks, and despite the awkward haste with which they had decided on their new position, Cara knew it was what she needed. She leaned back, keeping a tight hold on his neck, and allowed herself to be jogged upon his rigid member. She was crying out incessantly beneath him, and she didn't care if the pilot heard her in the cockpit. Just the shape of the word made her shiver.
She could feel the jets of the Jacuzzi shooting against the back of her legs, and it was this sensation that ultimately drove her over. She came hard and unexpectedly, bearing herself down on Simon's manhood as he milked her for one long, drawn-out cry of release. The sensuous vision of her orgasm inspired his own, and she felt him shoot a hot rush into her to rival the jets. Cara shivered and clenched her thighs around his waist as she rode the feeling out.
Afterwards, she collapsed on the mattress in the bedroom with a towel draped around her spent frame. Simon joined her in a similar state of undress. He seemed amused by the draining effect that hot tub sex had on her.
"Feeling good?" he asked her unnecessarily. Cara could only groan in response. The billionaire pulled her across the bed and into his arms, where they kissed and eventually dozed off as the jet flew them ever closer to their ultimate destination.
When they touched down in England, it was a hundred times worse than Cara could have ever imagined.
CHAPTER 23
It was too bad she couldn't enjoy her first glimpse of a foreign country between all the flashbulbs bursting.
Okay, so they weren't technically flashbulbs. Most of the paparazzi in the crowd had tiny digital cameras and the huge black beastly models with telescopic lenses that Cara liked to rent out from her school.
The instant Simon's jet slowed to a stop, the paparazzi were mobbing the stair car outside. Cara stood at the top of the stairs beside Simon, face stricken at the chaos. She had seen these sort of circling shark tactics before, but never at this level, and never in a situation where she had been the subject of attention. This was Beatlemania-level pandemonium. She was seriously considering turning around and disappearing right back the jet until Simon produced a pair of black glasses for her.
"I was afraid of this. Put these on," he said under his breath. His own eyes were hidden beneath a pair of Ray-Bans. Cara complied, letting the tinted lenses of her terribly last minute disguise swallow up most of her own features. It was too late for her, she knew—at least ten of the photographers at the head of the line had already snapped her picture.
"So much for telling my advisor I'm in New York," she muttered as they descended the stairs together. The bodies swarmed forward to get close-ups, while still parting to allow them passage through the horde. Cara was a bit surprised by this gesture, though there was nothing comfortable about the invasive strangers' continued proximity. She wondered if English paparazzi were politer than the ones they had back in the States.
"They shouldn't be here," Simon said below his breath. "How could they have possibly known that I was coming? They didn't know I was away to begin with!"
"This is some shady shit," Cara agreed as they fought their way toward the limousine that awaiting them. She could have sworn she saw one of the reporters quickly jot down her quote. She imagined she could already read tomorrow's headline: Hermitous billionaire jetsetter brings home foul-mouthed American floozy.
Not bad, actually. She might have a hidden talent for editorializing this sort of thing.
She was surprised to find that it was Gerald holding the door to the limousine open for them. "My apologies, sir," said the elderly butler. "But I couldn't bring the car around any closer to the plane."
"That's all right, Gerald. I'm sure they would have found out I was back sooner, anyway." Simon held his arm out to invite her inside first, and Cara slid into the expansive backseat of the limo. He piled in after her and slammed the door behind him. She turned immediately to analyze the scene outside and pulled her glasses off.
"There must have been at least five news stations out there, not counting all the reporters, bloggers, and freelancers…" She trailed off and shot Simon a look of wonder. The man was sitting slumped in a corner with his arms crossed. Despite his words of reassurance to Gerald, he did not look pleased. His mouth was set into a grim line, and he only appeared to be half-listening to her. "Simon, you're a big deal, aren't you?"
It was a strange question to have to ask. Of course, Melinda had told her that Simon was worth a lot of money—that much had been evident to Cara from the moment she first laid eyes on his house—and she now knew that he had also been involved in a highly publicized accident that had left another man dead. Those statistics alone were
enough to warrant some media presence at his arrivals and departures, but to become an actual media event? There was more to Simon Banning's image going on here.
"I used to do a lot of charity events," the man offered eventually. "And I did some, um… modelling. You know how the princes are considered sex symbols in my country?"
"Yeah, but I never understood why," Cara responded without thinking. Then the real message behind his question sank home. "What, you're telling me you're a sex symbol in your home country?"
"Not by choice." Simon exhaled a long and drawn-out sigh. He might as well have been discussing his most recent visit to the DMV for all the enthusiasm he was showing. "Having money will buy you that sort of status. And if you're single, and not unfortunate to look at…"
"Why does this remind me of the opening lines to Pride and Prejudice?" Cara glanced out the window as Gerald turned off the runway and onto a major highway. It was disorienting to see all of the cars driving on the wrong side of the yellow line. Everything about the London outside her window appeared modern enough, but Simon's statements still had her grinning with the memory of her English 101 course.
"Don't paint me as a stereotype, Cara," the billionaire chastised her. "I'm no Mr. Darcy. And anyway, that seems to be the state of affairs in every country. Money attracts attention, whether you want it or not. And when you have everyone's attention, there's nowhere they would rather see you go than down in flames."
"We're going to be in the papers tomorrow, aren't we?" Cara was already opening her laptop with an idea to run an Internet search on the two of them, when Simon reached across to fold the screen closed in her lap.
"Yes, but I wouldn't worry about it. I doubt anyone will be able to uncover who you are. Not implying that you're insignificant, or anything."
"Of course not. Thank you." Cara glared at him, but couldn't help a reluctant laugh when she saw his sheepish grin. "I'm a better story when I'm Simon Banning's 'mystery blonde'. The truth would only disappoint them."
"Exactly. And that isn't a reflection on you." He was adamant on this point. Cara's face softened, and she set her laptop aside to maneuver herself across the aisle and into Simon's lap. At the rate they were going, she was starting to doubt the future necessity of seats at all. She laced her arms around his neck and gazed out the window once more.
No more surprises, she promised herself. I'm in Simon's world now, where this sort of thing is commonplace. I have to act like seeing it all for the first time doesn't affect me so he doesn't feel the need to constantly reassure me. I have to play it cool.
#
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Cara moaned. "This has got to be a joke, right? This castle isn't yours, right?"
She was standing in the dirt driveway of the largest building outside of a skyscraper that she had ever seen. The house—or mansion, or castle, or whatever it was listed as on the billionaire market—loomed over her like a BBC set piece. It was built all out of heather-gray stone, and suited the majestic dreariness of the countryside around it perfectly. She had stopped counting the rows of windows after the fourth or fifth story.
"You didn't tell me you lived at Downton Abbey!" she exclaimed as Simon instructed one of the servants on where to take their things. The small staff that acted as the holdover at Simon's English mansion were all attractive, pale, and straight-faced men and women, and they didn't appear to know what to make of Cara. Two of them cast her an obvious look as they walked back inside, but a lack of any clear emoting left the intentions behind their glances unknown.
"That's strike two on your xenophobia card, Cara," Simon said grimly. "I suppose I should be happy that you are getting it out of your system now before we have company over."
"Are we? Going to have company?" Cara followed the train of servants inside. The interior of the great house was magnificent; she counted three staircases off the top of her head, and that was just her mathematical impression of things from five seconds standing in the foyer. She didn't even want to think about how many of her dorm rooms could fit inside the entryway that was traditionally reserved for housing peoples' umbrellas, and that was it. The ornamental rug that she was currently tracking English mud onto looked as if a big game hunter had gone up against the entire cultural history of China, bagged it, and sold it as furniture. The rug alone was probably worth more money than Cara would ever see in her life.
Most of the furniture pieces were shrouded in dust coverings, and she could see the servants going from room to room now and removing them. A part of her was intrigued by the concept of a house coming back to life around them, but Simon appeared preoccupied by other things, so she followed him into the next room. The fireplace informed her that it was probably the living room—but one of how many?
She was seriously not playing it cool right now.
"There will be more talk in the tabloids if we don't." Simon's answer reminded Cara of her original question. She plopped down onto one of the room's couches after one of the maids unveiled it. "In all likelihood, the paparazzi will attempt to infiltrate the grounds and snap photos. Just because no one has ever succeeded before doesn't mean that they won't this time. I used to have a lot more security," he lamented. "Had to send most of them on their way when I left the country. There was no use protecting an employer who wasn't there."
"So you're going to them, rather than waiting for them to come to you," Cara mused. Not that she considered what the paparazzi did journalism exactly, but it was certainly interesting to be on the other side of the line for a change. She racked her brain for all the techniques she had ever seen persons of interest employ successfully when they wanted to avoid media attention.
"Yes. I was thinking a dinner function of some sort, either here or in the city." Simon was about to sit down beside her when a voice cleared itself in the doorway. They both glanced up to find Gerald in the entry.
"Sir, there is a phone call on the line for you. Shall I tell them you are not here?"
"Who would be calling me on the landline?" Simon wondered as he rose. "My acquaintances can't know I'm back in the neighborhood already, can they? I suppose it was inevitable." He dropped a quick kiss on Cara's forehead and vanished out into the hall. The move left her making awkward eye contact with Gerald. At least, she felt awkward about it. Gerald looked as stiff and removed as usual. She wondered if he disapproved of her being there.
Simon had said he had sent all of his servants home back in the States. She supposed the butler, who was distinctly English himself, was probably not counted amongst their ranks. She had just opened her mouth to ask Gerald more about himself when Simon returned and dismissed the man with a nod. She quickly, and unnecessarily, made room for him on the couch beside her. His expression said it all before he did.
"That was Stetson's family. They heard it on the news that I had returned." Simon laced his hands; he looked as if he was about to be sick."They want to set up a meeting with me."
CHAPTER 24
Stetson Pembrook was the youth who had been driving the night of Simon's accident. He was the boy that Simon had pulled out of the river and successfully administered CPR to—and subsequently died on his way to the hospital. His family were the ones who had filed a lawsuit against Simon and singlehandedly wrecked his trust in the human race.
"Shouldn't your lawyers be here?" Cara was peeking subtly into one of the mansion's many drawing rooms, where the Pembrooks sat together and waited for Simon to join them. They were thin, unhealthy looking people, and they wore their grief for their son like a perfume. Cara thought she had developed a mistaken impression of them—they didn't look enterprising at all. They just looked… said.
"They said this meeting was off the record." Simon was pacing the rug beside her, adjusting his tie repeatedly and running a distraught hand through his hair until his auburn locks stood on end. He was definitely starting to look the part of the insane recluse she had once suspected him of being. Cara reached out a hand to stall him, and stepped away from the do
or to help him readjust his worried appearance.
"You know, for a guy who didn't believe a word I said when I was telling the truth, you sure are willing to trust in people who have your worst interest at heart."
"This is the first time since I spoke to them at the scene of the accident that it will be just the three of us," Simon whispered to her. "I believe I told you that they never had it in their heads to come after me until later, and by that point there was no hope of reaching out to them to discuss their loss without a lawyer. This was the exact reason I followed your advice and came back to England. This was the exact thing I was hoping would happen."
"Then why do you look so terrified?" Cara inquired as she swept the wrinkles from his shoulders. In lieu of a response, Simon looked agonized, and of course she would be a fool not to know the reason for his sudden case of nerves. "Get in there. I bet they've been waiting to talk to you on the same terms for as long as you have. Don't make it about the lawsuit, and don't make it about you; just listen to what they have to say." She raised herself up on her toes, pulling him down by his freshly-adjusted tie to plant an encouraging kiss on his miserable mouth. "Be brave. And afterwards, you can show me around the grounds."
"You're smart to give me something to look forward to," Simon commended, but there was no more distracting himself from what he had to do. With a sigh, the billionaire straightened his posture, pushed the door fully open, and entered the room.
#
They met up again later to walk the grounds, as promised. Cara itched to ask him about the interview. She could not divine the direction Simon's conversation with the Pembrooks had taken, either from his expression or from theirs as they left the mansion an hour later. She had stayed out of sight, but always within reach should anything go wrong. She noticed Gerald doing the same.
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